


The Boy Has Green Hair

by Forbiddenmichael



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Ashton Irwin - Freeform, Calum Hood - Freeform, Cute and adorable, F/M, Luke Hemmings - Freeform, Michael Clifford - Freeform, Rather fluffy, and are like okay ill help, and it made this happen, and thought of this whislt in the car, and you feel bad, but i really like this idea, but lueks a nerd of course, but yes your the girl, i know that the order of mikeys hair is messed up but just go with it, i literally can picture him doing this, like idek why not but still, like really sweet, lots of notes and stuff, so i know its been a while, so its about you, so ive been falling asleep in my lessons, so michael doesnt sleep enough, sorry but the boys are only very breifly mentioned, there is some really cute bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forbiddenmichael/pseuds/Forbiddenmichael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy’s hair in front of you was green, and it was distracting. Like it was directly in your line of vision to the teacher, effectively preaching about when in real life you would use the quadratic formula. On a side note, his argument was completely invalid, and you failed to see why anyway would care, but equally off topic. The vibrancy of the boys hair drew you to him, resulting in many a lesson spent furiously catching up on the way to solve the problem on the board, having spent too much time with your gaze on him instead of the white board. And it wasn’t like he was ever doing anything different, just sleeping. Oh yeah sleeping. That was what had your eyes drawing back to him every time the teacher screeched about an x needing to be factorised or something just as horrific. </p><p>or when Michael is constantly asleep in class, and as a kind student with defiantly no ulterior motives- note the irony - you decided to lend a helping hand, oh and maybe an ego boost</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Has Green Hair

**Author's Note:**

> sorrrry for not writing in forever but ive had shit tonnes of work. oh well im back now!! hope you like this bcos I actually really enjoyed writing it when I should have been revising but again whoops. 
> 
> hope you like it :)  
> ( maybe comment and tell me what you think?)

The boy in front of you had green hair. But it wasn’t like that was a revelation. He had green hair every day- well every day from the day that he had dyed it before he subjected it to another colour change. It was just that the vibrant colour kind of hurt your eyes that early in the morning. You were sure it would hurt most people’s eyes if there was a luminous green haired boy sitting a row in front and one seat to the left- no you were not a stalker, you just knew where he sat…not a stalker- at 8.30 on a Monday morning. The owner of the offending hair had equally blinding skin. With a white, almost translucent quality, it contrasted with his hair, making both the white and the green equally vivid. The darker green of his eyes stood out no matter what colour his hair was, the golden eyelashes around them framing the green irises, and the deep colour of his lips was something most girls could only dream to achieve with lip-gloss. You knew the black of his tattoos would stand out against his skin, but the ink was always hidden under the sleeves of an ever present hoodie. Heavy combat boots with hastily tied laces- you only noticed the laces as once he had stood on one of them and in the sleep deprived state that he was normally in before (during and after) your lecture, and tripped up the stairs of the tiered seating of the lecture hall. No one had paid any attention to the boy, taking his expertly placed eyebrow piercing and skinny jean clad appearance as a sign of indifference to anything anyone else said. But a guy with a ridiculously high blonde quiff, he sat at the front of the class, and-annoyingly- always knew the answers did shout out a “Well done Mikey”, followed by a somewhat manic cackling from a curly haired boy next to him. It was still cute though, how a guy with obnoxiously loud hair and even more obnoxiously loud music blaring from his headphones most mornings- you did make note of his excellent music taste, that was when the music from his headphones wafted back to your seat the row behind- could do something as endearing as tripping over a hurriedly tied lace. 

Anyway that was off the point. The boy’s hair in front of you was green, and it was distracting. Like it was directly in your line of vision to the teacher, effectively preaching about when in real life you would use the quadratic formula. On a side note, his argument was completely invalid, and you failed to see why anyway would care, but equally off topic. The vibrancy of the boys hair drew you to him, resulting in many a lesson spent furiously catching up on the way to solve the problem on the board, having spent too much time with your gaze on him instead of the white board. And it wasn’t like he was ever doing anything different, just sleeping. Oh yeah sleeping. That was what had your eyes drawing back to him every time the teacher screeched about an x needing to be factorised or something just as horrific. 

When he walked into the hall every Monday morning, for a gruelling maths lesson, his feet clomped on the floor, his haired was styled in a way that looked as if he had just been making out with someone behind a bike shed somewhere with the way it was stuck up at ridiculous angles-even though you knew this wasn’t true as it was half eight, and honestly no one is that up for it that early in the morning- and also the bags under his eyes were deep purple, the whites of his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, which made him look like a zombie. The hands shoved deep in his pockets, the hunch of his back, on which a scruffy ripped backpack was slung, and really, even the white headphones that stood out against his fully black clothing were all signs of a student who really, really needed a good night sleep. He would walk his way to the seat, more or less at the back of the room, stumbling slightly over the discarded bags that littered the floor, and would then sprawl out in his seat. Within the time it took for the warning bell to ring and the teacher to walk into the classroom, his arms were crossed over the desk, his head resting on them, and he was asleep. The nape of his neck was visible from the way he curled down onto the desk, and it looked ghostly white, even when it was scattered with the dyed hair. How he managed to get the hair at the top of his neck covered in the dye as well was pretty impressive. 

Once asleep, it’s like the world around him stopped moving. Nothing could wake him up. Not the teacher yelling at a tanned boy with blonde streaks in his hair, who insisted on chucking rolled up balls of paper at the two boys at the front of the room who called out to the currently sleeping boy. Not when someone got up to go to the toilet- actually translated to escape from the class to use their phone to call for help- and accidently bumped his foot, or the table his was draped over. And not even the small, ever so insignificant fact that every time he spent dreaming- probably dreaming about something equally punk rock and illegal- he was forfeiting collecting any notes at all.

And that’s really where it all started. Well that made you sound like a nice, loving person who was just looking out for a fellow student when in reality, you were just selfish and didn’t like the idea of the exhausted boy having to stay up later than he evidently did- doing god knows what, you might add- to catch up on notes. So yes it started with the thought of him not taking notes, among other things. 

*** 

Michael walked into the class room, with his head bowed and the purple bruises under his eyes darker than ever. His green hair looked somewhat deflated, it was obviously representative of his mood, and his hoodie looked extra cuddly and warm. Meaning he would be asleep in approximately 3 minutes. True to form, when he stomped over to the desk and threw himself into it, he threw his arms down and was asleep. But this time his face wasn’t buried face down in his arms. No he was looking to the right, and his face was…well it was everything you could have hoped. By looking to the right he had offered his face to any of the praying eyes that would fall on him. And you almost sighed at the sight. His face was completely slack, relaxed and peaceful looking. You’d never seen him without the muscles on his forehead condensed into a frown, and honestly, he looked beautiful. With closed eyes the golden lashes of his eyes, splayed out against the white of his skin, barley brushing the dusty pink of his cheekbones. His cute little nose twitched ever so often when one of the little puffs of air that left his parted mouth- yes, his mouth was parted when he was asleep, and honestly the fantasies of pressing kisses all over his lips and face were running havoc in your head- blew against his hair until it fell back on his nose again. He ever so slightly scrunched up his nose, so it must have tickled, and you had to fight back a giggle, and the intense feeling that made you crave to brush the hair from his face. The little puffs of air left no sound, and his lips looked even plumper- and kissable, but whatever,- and you honestly felt winded. Or subjected to some terrible punishment, as no one deserved to be able to be within 20 yards of someone so perfect and adorable. 

So that lesson you spent staring, staring at everything that was Michael, whilst vowing that next lesson you would take notes. Two sets of notes, in the hope that Michael would carry on sleeping in your maths lessons, so you could see his face looking so serene. Oh and so he can get some sleep of course, you reasoned. If he ever realised that yes, he did need the notes, the he would stop sleeping and you didn’t think you could go back to just staring at the back of his head. Every time he shifted in his seat that lesson, you hope and prayed that he wouldn’t move his face away, snatching the glimpses of his fluttering eyelashes when something too exciting happened in a dream he was having, from you. He didn’t move away, and if you didn’t stop looking then nobody needed to know. 

*** 

The next Monday, Michael’s hair was pink. Ever so slightly pink. Like the pink of the marshmallows in a white and pink bag when they are dusted in that whitish coloured powder that sticks to your fingers and clothes. It was light and almost white with a hint of pink. It reminded you of candyfloss and you wanted to touch it. Run your hands through it, whilst he stood there fumbling with the cuffs of his jumper. His hair was pink, and you almost fell out of your chair. 

Twenty minutes into the lesson, you realised what a terrible idea this was. Your hand was aching so badly, your thumb felt like it had been dislocated and the little callous that everyone get when writing way too fast in tests, honestly felt like it was on fire. Your hand flew across the paper, and the lesson flew by with only a few chances of looking upwards to where Michael was. You tried not to look at his pink hair when you did, as really, how were you not meant to have a heart attack. That would be a good story, girl with broken hand dies from cuteness of a boy with pink hair, who did we forget to mention actually doesn’t know she even exists. By the time the lesson was over, you had two sets of notes. One horribly scruffy, with annotations made in shorthand that in all fairness you wouldn’t be able to understand later, ink smears and horribly week abbreviations of words. And the other, quite frankly, was somewhat perfect. The swirly, steady hand writing that marked the page, alongside the detailed step by step- did you mention numbered?- ‘how to’ s on solving all the questions, and also the little extra bits of information highlighted in green pen, glared back at you. It looked like a work of art next to your scruffy notes.

With five minutes left, you headed the page M.C- M for Michael, and the C because you’d seen the initial stitched into the strap of his backpack at the start of the year. With a final glace to the still sleeping boy in front of you, taking in his hair and the way his long legs were scrunched up under the desk, you felt a burst of confidence and scribbled something down at the bottom of the paper. In pencil of course so as to not ruin the notes. 

Once you’d hurried out of the room, stopping as conspicuously as possible by the elbow his head wasn’t resting on, and slipping the paper underneath it, you stopped at the door way and turned back to look at Michael. He had just woken up, the guy with the tall blonde quiff having kicked his foot. Sleep still clouded his eyes and when he looked at the perfectly made notes on his table, he looked quizzical for a second and then smiled. He flipped the page over and got to the pencilled in part at the bottom. His small sleepy smile turned into a full faced grin that even touch his eyes.  
I like your new hair :) 

*** 

So technically that’s how it began. And for weeks that’s how it carried on. With an aching hand you would leave the lesson. Consolidated notes in your head for sure, seeing as you had written them twice, but also a little fluttering of anxiety that happened every time you took out a pencil to write at the bottom of the notes. The bundle of nerves, or maybe apprehension at him thinking you were a bit weird- you didn’t expect him to wake up when you ‘dropped off’ the notes, so that never concerned you- contained itself in your stomach from the time you slipped the note under the crook of his elbow, till the time you caught a glimpse of his bashful smile from the door way. 

He’d now started to scramble to read the little note. Not even flicking his gaze across the notes you had meticulously made and only turning the paper over quickly to see what you had written. The smile on his face never faltered or wavered depending on what was sprawled on the paper, not even when one time you had caught site of the brown-with-blonde-streaked-haired boy stealing the paper to jeer at the sappy grin on Michael’s face. 

The words at the bottom varied. Mostly different and relating to his hair, or his eyes or his smile or his…his, well everything. It was adorable how the first couple of times he had received the notes he almost seemed shy and then a little frantic when he scanned the classroom for a prank cam or something similar. However once it seemed to become a regular thing, he stopped worrying. He almost expected the notes and messages. The beginnings of a smile always lit up his face when he was woken up after the final bell, turning into something more breath-taking – quite literally, it took your breath away- and easy. 

Your eyes look so green with your new hair

Do you realised how well placed your eyebrow piercing is?!

I prefer the circular black earrings you wear, rather than the hoopy ones with the little triangles dangling from them. Very punk rock ;) . That one was a joke, just to confirm that, even though you did prefer the black earrings. 

Your legs look great in those jeans. You crossed that out and instead wrote: I like your jeans :) 

Did you know you part your mouth when you sleep?, its only slightly (hugely) adorable . You’d felt quite bold writing that one. 

Can I just point out how your music taste is soo great, but you’re not really gonna be able to hear anything soon if you keep listening to your music that loud? Like I don’t mind though aha 

Why don’t you bring coffee to this lesson so you stay awake? 

Your hair looked particularly fluffy today, you looked (you crossed that out) are cute

I bet your hair is reallllly soft to touch when it’s all messy 

Then after weeks of writing it down, and then crossing it out, and then writing it down again, you finally plucked up the courage to sprawl the question that had been bugging you for ages down on the paper. Without giving yourself a second thought, you zipped up all of your things in your bag, and made you way to Michael’s desk. Slipping the note under it and bolting out of the classroom. This time you didn’t look back to see his expression, you didn’t want to see the look of anger when some random stranger started poking around in his business. The tight ball of nerves never left your stomach, sitting there and lying in wait. 

Why are you always so tired? 

You missed the look of determination that flashed across his eyes. 

*** 

The next lesson, Michael came in looking like he hadn’t just rolled out of bed. He wasn’t wearing his snuggly hoodie, because he was wearing a leather jacket, and honest to god you wanted to rip it off him. Compared to his still candyfloss hair, it reminded you that yes Michael may look, ‘punk rock’- and also like he could easily jump wire a motorbike whilst simultaneously smoking a cigarette- but he was still the adorable little kitten that slept with a parted mouth and flittering eyes. Surprising the leather jacket from hell itself, wasn’t what drew your attention. It was the huge energy drink in his hand. From the ‘energetic’ sounding name, it promised energy, which in all fairness Michael lacked this early in the morning, sugar because who the hell doesn’t need sugar, but most importantly caffeine. The absence of the sleeping hoodie and the presence of caffeine, clicked in your head. So he was trying to stay awake. To tell you to stop? To tell you to mind your own bloody business? To tell you to stop being a weirdo creep who drools at sleeping boys with pink hair? Your stomach churned when you sat down at your desk. 

For the first twenty minutes, he succeeded. He remained awake and even managed to take notes for some of the lesson. Notes that you secretly hope he was disappointed with as they looked nothing like the masterpieces you handed him every lesson. But his foot tapped on the floor, bouncing his knee up and down with restlessness and his hand flicked his pencil end on the top of the table in a quick pattern rapidly. So when the teacher started to ramble about ‘completing the square’, his head hit the table and he was asleep. But it was fitful. Every now and then he would jerk, or his foot would twitch with the amount of caffeine and sugar running through his body. It looked almost counterproductive, surely that type of broken sleep was just more tiring than being awake. You took the notes down for him anyway, and the pain in your hand almost felt good when you knew it was going to a just cause. 

Michael hadn’t twitched in a while, remaining more or less fully dormant for the last ten minutes of the lesson. It was good to see. There was no real tension when you got up from your desk and headed to Michael on the way out to slip him his notes. Unless the slight- huge- tugging of your heart at the spotless white paper that should have been marked with the charcoal grey of a little message. Slipping the note under his elbow, you made you way to leave. And made a mistake. A huge mistake. Misjudging the height of his combat boot, you tripped into it when you tried to step over it. Causing you to sprawl forward into the desk in front of his, and also waking Michael in the process. He hadn’t been in as deep a sleep as you had thought, so when he was woken he sprung upwards, knocking his chair back significantly with a screech. His face was wide with shock, but from being woken up. It hadn’t clicked yet why he had been woken up, he was still half asleep. 

“I’m up! I’m awake! I wasn’t asleep at all!” he shouted. Eyes wide until he fully woke up. “Oh,” he said, suddenly realising where he was. He took in the sight of you leaning awkwardly on the desk infront of him, breath caught in your throat as you begged that he didn’t piece the papers and the hyperventilating girl together. “Sorry to scare yo-“ . And he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, and fluttered to the papers on his desk.

“You.” he said, the lack of emotion winding you more than the fact you had nearly impaled yourself with the corner of the table. 

“Me?”. So maybe playing dumb wasn’t the best idea, but oh well. 

He gestured his hand around at the highlighted notes on his desk. “Why?”

“Um,” you bit your lip, brain spinning as you tried to think of another way to say I like really really like you and don’t want to see you tired or sad and I always quite like the way you look so cuddly when you are asleep so I wanted to see it more often without sounding like a paedophile. It felt like there were a tiny army of pic axe wielding wasps in your head trying to hammer their way out all at the same time. This was not how it was meant to happen. Honestly this thing you had going on wasn’t even meant to go on this long. “I um, you looked like you needed the sleep?” The words that sounded so foreign and full of lies in your head raised at the end like a question, indicating that they weren’t 100% accurate. 

He raised a perfectly pierced eyebrow. A small smile tugging at his lips. Despite how your knees were buckling at the nearly-a-smirk- on his face, it surprised you how you had managed to stand up and now not be leaning on the desk away from his for support . Now only his desk separated you, it wasn’t enough space to stop you from doing, well doing something. 

“And the little messages?” Okay now he was smirking. This was obviously not okay. Like you were not okay with the whole situation, let alone that sly little smile across his face or the twinkle in his eyes. 

“Um.” That time you didn’t even try and explain yourself. 

“Well, I think they were very, uh, nice” His cocky façade fell slightly when he reached a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. A somewhat endearing mannerism. 

“You’re welcome” you mumbled, even though it sounded more like the sound of someone choking with the way your voice broke and silenced at the end. “I’m gonna, like, um, okay?” You stumbled over your words, making it clear that even though you apparently couldn’t form a coherent sentence, you still had a brain to know that you needed to leave the room right now, and the legs to make you. Turning away from him quickly, you cringed externally. 

“Hey, wait!” he said. Then his hand reached out and took your wrist between his hands. How the hell where you not meant to pass out? You let your eyelids flutter at the contact instead. Seeing as the pads of his fingers were resting on your pressure point, you were slightly concerned that he was going to feel the erratic pumping of your blood from your pounding heart. 

“I was goi-“ he cut himself of mid-sentence. He shook his head, shaking off the thoughts of what he was going to say. The way his pink hair bounced slightly when he did so made you want to physically cry. Then his eyes took on a sheen of determination, the cocky smile came back, and he used the arm that was around your wrist to drag you towards him. Seeing as when you had tried to leave the room, you had stepped around the table; you weren’t met with the resistance as he tugged you into him. You crashed into each other, and his lips were on yours. Insistent but soft and not persisting or pressuring at all. The hand that had been clasping your wrist twisted and then he was lacing your hands together. The squeezing of your heart, echoed the thumping of your blood in your ears, and the perfect pressure on your lips made you feel lightheaded. The kiss lasted forever and was over too soon. There was no licking of bottom lips, or gasping into mouths, or no five second delay for you to start kissing him, and it was perfect. His bottom lip had slid between yours but other than that, it was pure, innocent. But your hand was in his hair, and God it was as soft as you had thought. You didn’t tug on it, just carded your hand through the soft strands. 

You pulled away slightly, resting your forehead on his, breathing still heavy. His lips were an even brighter red, and his green eyes shone. A smile plastered his face. Subconsciously you ran your tongue over your lips, seeing if you could still fee him there. His eyes flicked down to the movement of your tongue wetting them, and his mouth parted ever so slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been at such a close distance. One of his arms with still laced with yours and the other was hung loosely over your hip with the palm on your lower back. The hand of yours that wasn’t playing with the fluffy bits of hair at the base of his neck felt warm and small in his hand. 

You breathed out slightly, hoping Michael’s lips tingled when you did with a reminder of the kiss you shared. His eyes shone brighter. “Your hair in actually really soft” you whispered, almost like it was a secret. He grinned, large and wide and ducked his head down to kiss you again. 

Neither of you noticed the gust of air that passed through the hardly-ever open window and blew the notes from the desk top and onto the floor. When Michael parted his lips against yours and you followed suit with a little tug to his hair, you didn’t realise when the papers skimmed across the floor. They stopped when they reached the feet of three abnormally tall boys, but you didn’t notice them as Michael stepped forwards and pressed the small of your back against his desk whilst sliding his tongue against yours. And you also didn’t notice when one of the boys with the tall blonde quiff turned to the other two and whispered “I told him he should dye his hair pink” before tiptoeing as quietly as they could out of the empty hall and closing the door behind them. The clicking of the door closing shut was lost to the whispered word of “Thanks” from Michael, and the feeling of his lips once again sliding against yours.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it!?  
> maybe comment and tell me if you did???


End file.
